


No Solicitors

by kunstvogel



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Door to Door Salesmen, First Dates, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 23:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15568572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunstvogel/pseuds/kunstvogel
Summary: D'Artagnan is regretting his new job as a salesman. But one man answers his door- and makes a proposal.





	No Solicitors

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing inspired by the frankly annoying number of solicitors I've gotten at my new place. I'm going to loathe answering my door as much as I do my phone if this goes on much longer...
> 
> Edit: As there is some confusion, I will clarify that when I refer to d'Artagnan as a solicitor, I mean that he is a salesman trying to sell a product, not a lawyer or anything else you may think of. I'm native to the US, and that's the only way I've ever heard the word used.

“Hi, I’m d’Artagnan, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in-”

“I’m sorry,” the woman cuts him off, smiling. “Now’s a bad time. Maybe come back later?” She closes the door politely, and d’Artagnan sighs. He looks down at the map on his clipboard and crosses out the address of the apartment in front of him. D’Artagnan goes on to the next building over, knocking on the door of apartment 110.

The lock clicks, and the door opens a crack. A bearded man peers at d’Artagnan, and he smiles.

“Hi,” he says, and follows the script. He can tell from the look in the man’s eye that he isn’t interested, and his hope flags as he’s silent through the speech, looking bored.

After at least five minutes, the man interrupts d’Artagnan. “How much are they paying you for this, kid?”

D’Artagnan blinks, caught by surprise. He slumps wearily. “I only get paid for appointments,” he admits. “I haven’t made anything yet.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “I take it you didn’t notice the sign,” he says wryly, and d’Artagnan glances over to the man’s apartment number, seeing a  _ No Solicitors  _ sign.

“Sorry, I’ll leave you alone,” he says, turning to go.

“Wait,” the man says, opening his door wider. D’Artagnan appraises him curiously, taking in the thick black sweater and peroxide blue jeans he’s wearing. “I only answered the door because I think you’re cute,” the man says, seeking the name tag on d’Artagnan’s shirt. “Charles?”

D’Artagnan blushes. “I go by d’Artagnan, with my friends.”

“Athos.” The man smiles, his eyes crinkling with laughter lines. D’Artagnan is enamoured already. “If it would be alright,” he ventures, “I’d like to take you out for dinner.”

“I couldn’t possibly afford it,” d’Artagnan admits ruefully. “I took this job because they said it was twelve dollars an hour. I’m flat broke.”

“It’ll be my treat,” Athos hedges, looking hopeful. “I was cancelled on, and I’m afraid I’ve already made the reservations.”

D’Artagnan glances at his clipboard, considering. He’d already decided to quit and put out applications elsewhere. He’d not made any appointments yet, and figures he’s unlikely to find any at this rate away.

“Sure,” he agrees, smiling awkwardly. “I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion, though.”

Athos smiles, shrugging. “No one will mind. I certainly don’t.” He steps out, locking the door behind him, and leads d’Artagnan outside.


End file.
